


they don't love you (like i love you)

by elbe



Series: The Dirty Old Man Who Lives Above Luke's Diner [1]
Category: Gilmore Girls
Genre: Age Difference, M/M, Oral Sex, Playful Sex Banter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-27
Updated: 2012-04-27
Packaged: 2017-11-04 09:51:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/392498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elbe/pseuds/elbe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Luke pervs all over the nineteen-year-old kid that just happens to be his new server.</p>
            </blockquote>





	they don't love you (like i love you)

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for my bestie.

Luke hates this time of year. It gets cold, the pipes freeze, _everything_ ices over, and Taylor Doose stops by at least once a day with tinsel clutched in his meaty fists that he thinks might compliment the shade of Luke's diner wallpaper. There's carolers. Carolers! Vagrants that cannot be bothered to get real jobs, and instead, attempt to woo his wallet with "Good King Wenceslaus" and "Silent Night". No matter how many times Luke threatens to turn the hose on them, or how many times they promise to retaliate with a handy brick through his front window, they keep coming back. It's a vicious battle Luke is waging here. _Persistent bastards._ Time was, Luke thought the only good thing about winter was Lorelai Gilmore bundled up to the gills like a real life snow bunny (not that he'd ever tell her that). It's a one-sided fascination; always has been, and since her ex Christopher moved in (permanently), always will be. 

Besides, he's got something new on his plate to worry about.

Dean. Dean Forester. Dean fucking Forster. Fucking Dean Forester. Not that he thinks about it. The fucking part, that is. Okay, maybe he does a _little_. Honestly, would anyone blame him? Miss Patty routinely "accidentally" gropes the kid's backside while supposedly reaching for a napkin or a packet of sugar substitute from another table. Then again, Miss Patty doesn't really distinguish between men and lamp posts. 

And Luke's thoughts come full circle. Seems the customers react to the six-foot-four phenom. He's got the full package; cute hair, liquid brown eyes that seem to see everything, an apparently fit physique vaguely disguised by multiple shirt layers, and a thousand kilowatt smile. Half the teenage girl population of Stars Hollow has been camping out at corner tables, oohing and aahing, and taking up obnoxious amounts of space. 

He's about ready to toss them all out on their butts. He _would_ if they weren't so damn good for business. He's never sold this many burgers and milk shakes at 3PM since...well, ever.

Luke wants to believe that he's interested in the kid from a purely managerial stand point. He's the kid's boss, and as luck would have it, the kid's landlord. He's renting the spare room above the diner Liz uses when she blows through town like a freaking tornado. 

Having him across the hall doesn't help. Now, he's got to admit to himself that he has the hots for his new waiter. His new nineteen-year-old waiter. _Fuck._

He really didn't mean for it to happen. It kind of just...did, like these things often do. One day, he's hiring the kid after seeing how handy he was with a tray and the next day, he's admiring the curve of his ass and the tiny freckle behind his left ear he wants to nip at till the sun comes up. It helps that the kid's built like a pile of bricks. He's all hard and muscle and there's not an ounce of baby fat on him. There's no more baby on him - in him - at all. 

So that's something.

Luke admits it. He's a pervy old man with too much time on his hands. He should be mooning over Lorelai (hell, he had since the very first time he set eyes on the bundle of caffeinated energy), but she's moved on and so has he. He's not about to stay put on a woman who's spoken for. He doesn't need that kind of headache or heartache. Apparently, his libido agrees and has fixated upon greener pastures. 

Green is right. 

Luke can't ignore the thoughts, images, and sudden flashes of what Dean's wide mouth could look like stretched over his cock or mouthing one of his nipples while his hands dip below Luke's waist band. The dreams that started a month after the kid got here are a bit more graphic. Graphic enough for Luke to wake up with morning wood and a fierce need to take a cold shower. Instead, he spends a few extra minutes in bed, wandering over Dean's best assets in his mind, lazily jerking his dick until the heat pooling in his belly bursts like a sun behind his eyes and over his stomach. Everything about Dean sets him off. The way his arms strain as he picks up a heavy tray. The way his head cocks when he's misheard something. The plain inquiring way he asks, "Pardon?" The lips. The eyes. The ass. The strong legs that Luke imagines over his shoulders or around his waist or hugging his ears. 

And he's just supposed to go down and face the object of his obsession every morning, as chipper as the day he was born? Fucking torture.

&

That's why he's drinking. He's in his apartment over the diner, in what used to be his dad's office, and he's sitting at the dining room table. Pulled out the good shit, too. Well, the shit _not_ on the bargain shelf of Marty's Liquor Emporium out on Route 90. Some left over Guinness Liz left, the only remnants of her Irish phase.

It's full and rich and a little on the disgusting side when Luke downs his first swallow. But it's better this way. Now, he has something else to concentrate on besides cupping Dean's cock through his almost-too-tight denim. How much he hates Guinness. 

Sadly, that's not something he can dwell on for long. Inevitably, as it usually does, his betraying traitorous traitor of a mind cycles back to...you guessed it.

If only he had a TV to take his mind off things. 

Or a house guest, since apparently someone is at his door. There's a sharp rap; once, twice, three times a lady. It's probably Caesar, needing something or other. He's supposed to check in the order in the morning since Luke needs some time away from the diner. Maybe he'll go fishing.

Another knock.

"Yeah, yeah," Luke grumbles, dragging him out of the chair. "I'm coming." He adjusts his semi-hard dick in his sweats, and heads over. No use in freaking the guy out with an erection staring him in the face. 

Luke grips the handle, twists, opens the door, and instead of snapping out the customary, 'What do you want, Caesar,' he's shoved back into his apartment by a gigantic ball of energy. That particular ball of energy is named Dean Forester.

"What the-"

"I've seen you watching me." Before he can reply, he's got his mouth enveloped by another's. Dean's mouth is hot like fucking lava, molten and slow over his own. Dean takes his time, and Luke's too stunned to do anything. At least, that's the excuse he'll give if they're caught at this. Maybe he'll tell himself that in the morning. After he's convinced himself he dreamed it all.

Dean reaches up, wraps his hands around Luke's neck, fists his long fingers through Luke's (somewhat, not-really, c'mon every guy has this problem!) thinning hair, and pulls him closer. 

It takes Luke a long time, longer than he'd like, to come to his senses when he's practically being molested (no matter how welcome it is). But come to his senses he does, and he pushes Dean back. The kid's eyes are open wide and staring at him like he's lost whatever vestige of sanity he had left. 

"Why'd you stop?"

"Are you insane?" Luke stars off, diving right into the matter. "What do you think you're doing? You can't just barge into a man's home and start kissing him!" 

"I've seen you watching me," Dean repeats.

"Good for you. Your eyes work, and so do your serving skills, which are the only things I've been watching," Luke insists, voice rising as his temper does. And as his temper rises, he hides that biting pinch of arousal deep in his gut and groin.

"Liar."

This kid sure is cocky.

"What?"

Dean laughs, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down with the motion. "I said you're a liar."

"And you're this close, kid," Luke growls. " _This_ close to getting kicked out on your ass." As much as Luke wants this, he doesn't want the drama of sleeping with someone he works with. Someone who lives literally down the hall. Someone who could be his son (if he were to have the kid when he was fourteen, but still). Someone he really shouldn't be gagging over because it makes him feel like a fucking old man instead of the perfectly healthy, still-young one he is.

"I don't think so," Dean says, voice silky smooth and whisper soft. "You've been watching me. Watching when Miss Patty pinches my ass. You're jealous, aren't you?" He takes hold of Luke's right wrist, his fingers a thick band that tightens reflexively. And draws it straight to his ass, fitting his own fingers over Luke's. The denim scratches the palm of Luke's hand, but he's not concentrating on that. He can feel the steel-strong muscles back there, shaped and curved just right. He notices how his hand fits perfectly along the swell of the cheek, and doesn't do anything but swallow.

He doesn't move his hand, even when Dean removes his own.

Satisfied, Dean steps into Luke's personal space, their foreheads touching. His hot breath plays over Luke's lips and chin. He smells of Big Red and underneath that, the gentle spice of pecans and nutmeg from the pie he consumed earlier after hours. Luke likes it. A whole hell of a lot.

"The only reason I've seen you watching me is I've been watching you," Dean growls, low and deep in his throat. "And I like what I see. I want what I see."

"I'm almost old enough to be your dad, kid," Luke protests one last time, knows that it's paper thin. People stretched across generations marry every day. Why should fucking be any more complicated?

"But you're not my dad, and that's important," Dean jokes. He chuckles, and Luke decides he likes the way Dean's eyes crinkle at the sides.

"Yeah, it really is." It's more of an afterthought than affirmation, but Luke goes ahead anyway and kisses Dean again. This time, it's softer and gentler, and he dashes his tongue along Dean's lower lip, requesting permission. Dean gives it to him, wholeheartedly, and Luke doesn't hesitate in pushing past the last resistance of his lips and into his scorching hot mouth.

Dean hisses like he's touched a hot stove and moves in closer, mashing their mouths together. There's nothing between them, not even air. Just a little spit and their clothes. 

Luke breaks off the kiss, for a moment, as he moves in to explore that freckle. The point of interest he's been eying since Dean walked through the front door of his diner. HIs skin tastes a little salty, sweaty from work. He bites down, a tad harder than he wants to, and Dean sucks in a breath, lightning fast. Luke jolts away like he's been electrocuted, and asks, "Did I hurt you?"

Dean laughs. "No. Was just surprised is all." He cards his fingers through Luke's hair again, already warmly his rapidly cooling scalp. "Keep going."

Luke nods, his hair brushing against Dean's cheek as he leans in further. Nestles his nose in those fair hairs at the base of his neck. They're soft and he likes them tickling him as he's sucking at the little brown dot. But he doesn't want to spend his time here. On the neck and in the middle of the room with the door wide open. He wants to adjourn this party to the bed, to where he can pretend there's no one else in the whole world but him and Dean. Them together.

But Dean will have none of that. He grabs at Luke again, clasping the plaid collar of his shirt so tight, his knuckles bleed white. Luke doesn't move, almost afraid of what will happen next. He's hard, or getting there, and he doesn't want this to end quite yet. If the kid's bent on teasing him, Luke'll have none of that. He can't back down now; after all, he started it.

"I want to do something for you." 

Luke's almost afraid to ask what.

"Hold on," Dean instructs. He shucks his shirts and drops them on the floor. There's so much skin revealed that Luke lets his eyes trail over the well toned muscles of his shoulders, the sharp angles of his arms, the narrow waist. How a thin path of hair drags on from his bellybutton into his trousers, beneath the button and fly. 

Not willing to be left out, Luke begins to undress himself, but Dean's hands stop him.

"Don't," Dean instructs. "There's something so fucking hot about you keeping your clothes on." 

Luke doesn't have a problem with that; what the kid wants, the kid can fucking get. Just as long as he does what Luke thinks he's going to do.

And sure enough, Dean drops to his knees like he's the practiced whore on the street corner. And damn if that didn't give Luke a jolt of excitement. Something to explore later? 

All thoughts, however, fizzle out as Dean unzips Luke's jeans with a careful tug, and reaches in to find his dick, not quite hard, but eager to jump to attention. He wraps his hand around it through the material of Luke's boxer briefs, and Luke bucks instinctually into his hand. It's been so long since he's had anybody else touch him. Teeny sparks go off behind his eyelids as Dean strokes him through the cotton, his fingers firm but not harsh. The movements are slow, but calculated, like Dean's studying his reaction. And he is, watching him through those thick lashes, too pretty for his own damn good. 

"It's bigger than I thought, but not by much." Dean smirks, and keeps moving his hand. Up. Down. Up. Down. Twist at the end, over the head, like he's jerking himself off instead of Luke."Thick, though. Like a fucking bat. How's that ever going to fit?" 

Luke almost chokes on his own tongue at the kid's words, the way he says them like he's discussing his science fair project instead of a man's dick in his palm. 

"Take it out," Luke demands hoarsely. Dean doesn't say anything; just obeys. Reaches his hand through the slit in the underwear, and brings Luke's dick through into the open, cool air. Luke clicks his tongue against his teeth at the sudden onset of cool air on the burning skin of his dick. Dean licks his lips - _so dirty_ \- and stares at it. Simply stares for a moment too long.

"What'cha doin', kid? Takin' notes?" 

"Depends. Will there be a pop quiz later?"

"Sure thing, let me get my grade book," Luke jokes along with him, annoyed sarcasm threading itself through his voice and words. 

"They don't teach _this_ in school." And Dean leans forward, braces himself by grabbing Luke's ass in his big hands, and practically nuzzles Luke's dick. Rubs his cheek over the near-velvety smooth skin. Over the soft head. Before long, he joins it with his tongue, simply licking up and down. Up and down. But it's clear he wants to do more. He wants to take Luke into his mouth. Which Luke would thoroughly enjoy. But the kid tugs his boxers down his thigh, veritably trapping him. Dean cups his balls. Dean runs his fingers along the crack of Luke's ass. Dips in between, but not too much. Let's not get ahead of ourselves. 

"Are you gonna take it, or..."

Dean swallows Luke as much as he can, as much as the kid in him can. The inexperienced kid that is still very much naive, though he wouldn't want Luke ever somehow discovering that point of fact, and therefore has extreme trouble fitting even a small amount of this giant dick into his mouth without taking the end off with his teeth. Luke makes a hissing noise as Dean sucks him in a little too fast, a little too hard, and he instantly feels like getting up, throwing his shit together, and heading to the little room down the hall. Very close, yet very far away from this particular embarrassment.

But Luke's fingers are dancing across his cheek, and he glances up, fingers wrapped around half-hard, quickly drying cock.

"It's okay, kid," Luke hushes his protests. "Just go slow. Practice makes perfect, ya know."

Dean doesn't know whether it's the soothing comfort in his tone, or the dirty thought that Luke calling him kid made his dick practically jump in his trousers. There might be something there to explore later, if he wasn't already on his knees and preoccupied.

He tries again, going slow, listening to the slow whoosh of breath as Luke struggles to keep his hips where they are. Dean grips the waist band of his denim jeans, falling down around his hips. They're wantonly parted, briefs shoved down, dick at the ready along his thigh. Something is insanely hot about Dean being near nudity and Luke being fully dressed. About Dean simply showing up, demanding this, and having Luke obey. With vigor. About the hard kisses they shared before Dean dared to take a knee, before Luke gave him that molten lava look as Dean unzipped his denim and snaked a hand inside. Drew him out. 

Dean closes his eyes, tries to concentrate on the tastes and textures and pretty much everything there is to focus on here. Luke's dick is soft, like his, but it's a different kind of soft. Maybe because it's not in his hand anymore, but in his mouth where his tongue roams over the smooth skin and tender nerves. He simply doesn't want to fit it into his mouth, he wants it to fill his mouth. Fill every nook and cranny. He wants to be stuffed with Dane Cock and this is one way to do it. 

The head is bigger than he'd thought it would be, purple and slightly oblong, but it tastes alright. Salty and bitter, but something he could get used to. Dean settles there for a moment, cupping it with his tongue, getting it nice and wet until he can mostly taste his spit and nothing else. 

"Oh, c'mon, 'c'mon." Luke's grunts are quick and breathless. His eyes are nearly closed, but Dean knows he's watching him. Watching the much younger man - fucking _kid_ \- tasting his dick, and damn well loving it because he hasn't complained yet. 

Dean takes a certain amount of pride in that, and charges on.

He gets another inch or two in before that monster gag reflex kicks in and he has to stop. Dean's got a hand around the base of Luke's cock, occasionally twisting up and down the shaft, making those motions he now knows Luke likes. Trial and error. He trails his tongue under the shaft, following the thick vein all the way up to the head. And if Luke is anything like him, he knows that...

"Oh sweet-!" Luke bucks in his mouth, and for a second Dean thinks he's going to throw up, but he learns quickly to breathe through his nose to keep those icky feelings at bay (hey, whaddya know, practice DOES make perfect!). He's still moving his hand at the base, spit slowly easing the motion. He's practically drooling all over Luke's big dick, and he likes it. Likes the feeling of knowing that he's all over the diner owner. That Luke is still breathing hard and grunting because of him and not his experience, since he sure as hell doesn't have any. Luke's motor is going because of him, and Dean's learning to love that feeling.

Dean's mind returns to the matter at hand, or rather, in hand. He's still gumming his lips around the head, and while he wants to be the kind of sexual partner with enough prowess to actually attempt deep throating, he's going to have to settle with the plentiful amount of tips garnered from his big brother's porn stash. 

He goes back down, as far as he can go, and keeps a hold of Luke's cock. Dean sucks in, hollows his cheeks, and tries to go up and down like the women in his brother's skin flicks.

"Not so hard, kid," Luke cautions him. "You're not a vacuum..."

Dean eases up. He falls back on his feet, getting comfortable. He wants to sit here awhile. He wants to spend as much time as he can doing this, feeling the hard yet tender skin of Luke's dick coat the inside of his mouth. Dean brings his left hand up, grips Luke at the base of his cock (ignoring the weird feel of the wiry hairs brushing against his skin), holds him steady and he just _licks_. Brings his wet tongue over the head, down the shaft, to the base. He draws his mouth over the thick vein underneath, almost a match for the one on his dick. Above him, Luke is huffing and puffing, scrunching his eyes closed. 

Luke's dick is so sensitive. He can feel every detail of Dean's tongue. Every fucking taste bud. It's hot and the air is cold and Luke is so close. So fucking, goddamn _close_ , he can feel the tide building behind the dam. 

And then Dean does something (Luke's not quite sure what), but he twists his fingers and moves his tongue in the most unholy freaking way, and Luke's fucking undone. It bursts up through his dick, and just like that, he's fucking coming. His eyelids spasm and he slips them close as he rides through his orgasm. He's probably going to go blind, but the thing is, he's okay with that. Not a big deal when you feel this good.

One snag is, as he later realizes, Luke doesn't quite have the presence of mind to exactly _warn_ the kid melting his popsicle. Blow job from a first timer usually requires the receiver to let them know when to pull off, but Luke thinks he shouldn't be blamed. Not when he's having his brain sucked out through his cock. 

Dean lets Luke's dick fall from his lips with a wet pop, and spits his jizz into his hand. He wipes the residue off on the back of his jeans. 

"That was..." Luke has no words. "That was...Kid, that was great." 

And the smile is back. "Like I said, I wanted to."

Dean's still stroking Luke through the last remaining shocks of his orgasm. Luke takes his face between his hands and kisses him once, twice, three times. 

"Wanna hear something _I_ want?" Luke asks, forehead against forehead with Dean.

The kid's already starting to breathe a little faster. Luke smirks, and without any warning, reaches down, grabs the kid's fucking hard dick in his hand, and squeezes. Dean yelps and Luke laughs.

"Ever been fucked?"


End file.
